On A Flower Offering

When she walks drunk with pride About the garden path, Flowerets on every side Lift up one suppliant voice

May she, ah God, make me Of all the rest her choice, Raise me from low degree To wake the sunflower’s wrath

Divine fortune, that she Should pluck you from the stem! Your rivals toss their petals;

The shock of severance past, New bliss of union settles Upon your life, whose gem Shines perfectly at last.

No springtime shall come freighting Its leaves with April’s luck, It withers in this waiting For her who comes to pluck.